


Playing Dirty

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Caught, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Felching, Jock Straps, M/M, Rimming, Scent Kink, Sibling Incest, Socks, Spit Kink, Top Dean, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You didn't shower, did you?”</p><p>Sam's face flushes beet red and he stares down in his lap.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Good boy.”  Dean scans the field and smiles slowly, licking his lips for emphasis before he runs his hand onto Sam's knee.</p><p>(Sam is 16)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deansdirtybb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansdirtybb/gifts).



> A long-overdue charity fic for the marvelous deansdirtybb! Hope you like it, darling. It's _filthy_. :D

“Good practice, Winchester.”

 

Sam slings his backpack over his shoulder and nods at his coach. The zipper pull on his sweatshirt is broken, and it takes Sam a minute to get it fastened. He glances across the field and watches as his teammates head for the showers. A hot shower would be really, really nice right now. The warm flush from practice is quickly seeping out of him as the air hits his sweaty skin.

 

He finally manages to zip up his sweatshirt and shoves his hands into the pockets, worming his thumb into the worn hole at the left corner. He takes a deep breath, letting the cool November air fill his lungs. It stings a bit, his breathing already a little labored after doing sprints.

 

Sam starts as he hears the honk of a car horn. He waves to his coach and jogs the short distance to the car, pushing his hair back from his forehead as he steps off the curb.

 

“Hey, Dean.” Sam tosses his backpack into the back seat and slides into the passenger side. When he turns to look at Dean he shivers a little, even though he's not that cold any more.

 

“You didn't shower, did you?”

 

Sam's face flushes beet red and he stares down in his lap.

 

“No.”

 

“Good boy.” Dean scans the field and smiles slowly, licking his lips for emphasis before he runs his hand onto Sam's knee.

 

If Sam could get any redder he'd have steam rising from his skin. Dean keeps his eyes on Sam's face as he slides his hand up, letting his fingers ruck under the polyester seam of Sam's shorts.

 

“Dean, come on,” Sam huffs, his eyes going wide as he looks out the window. Anyone could see them, see Dean's hand disappearing into his uniform as he skirts his fingers along the elastic pressing into Sam's hip.

 

“Christ, you're still wearing it.” Dean tucks his fingers under the strip of elastic and tugs. Dean has that _look_ , hungry and hot as he drags his fingernails against Sam's skin.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says weakly, the back of his head hitting the headrest as he swallows thickly.

 

“Been thinking about you all day, Sammy.” Dean lets the elastic snap softly back into place before he runs his fingers down the crease of Sam's thigh. His voice sounds shaky and Sam draws a sharp breath through his nose as Dean's fingers trail down to the warm space behind his balls.

 

“All sweaty in your little jockstrap, running around where everyone can see your ass bounce.” Dean presses his finger down, and Sam can't help it, he spreads his legs wider before he can even think about it. Dean chuckles and ghosts his finger over Sam's hole, and Sam groans as his dick swells to fullness.

 

“Dean.” Sam glares at the empty field before turning back to his brother. His cock is starting to ache against the confines of his cup and Dean's looking at him like he's gonna fuck him in the front seat of the car. Which wouldn't be a first or anything, but Sam's at this school for another month and he'd like to stay.

 

Dean palms himself through his jeans and lets his finger snap against the straps of Sam's jock one last time.

 

“What's wrong, Sammy? Afraid someone'll see what a big dick you're hiding under there?”

 

Sam flushes again, feeling his cock throb and whining in spite of himself as Dean draws his hand away.

 

“Don't worry, kiddo, your secret's safe with me.” Dean smirks and shifts himself, his lip drawing back a little as he adjusts the hard-on bulging in his jeans. He shifts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb, and at least Sam's not the only one riding home with a boner.

 

It's only ten minutes to get from school to their apartment but Sam manages to almost cream himself about twice as many times. Not like it's his fault.

 

“I jerked off in your bed when I got back from dropping you off.” Dean makes a left and licks his lips and Sam deserves some kind of medal for not grinding a hand against his dick.

 

“You're gross.” There's no heat behind it and Dean laughs.

 

“Oh, please.” Dean smiles knowingly and merges into the right lane. “You fucking love it.”

 

Sam's throat clicks on the swallow and he can't even bother denying it, not when he's just trying to keep his shit together through the next quarter mile. Sam does love it, loves the musty, salt-ripe smell of Dean all over him, and Dean fucking knows it, too.

 

“Fuck you.” Dean doesn't even rise to that one, just grins to himself as they fucking finally pull into the cracked driveway of their small development.

 

Sam's skin is jumpy as he follows Dean up the concrete stairs, running up shivers and goosebumps as his jockstrap shifts with each step. At least the cup keeps his dick from waving in front of him like the mast of the HMS Brother Fucker. Dean just struts with his usual confidence, like he happened to get his dick hard just so his jeans would fit that much better. He slips his key into the lock and holds the door open as Sam ducks inside.

 

The lock of their front door is still clicking shut when Dean kisses him, and for one confused moment Sam wonders if that's Dean's mouth making that _snickt_ sound. Then Dean wedges a thigh between his legs and Sam's backpack slumps to the floor with a dull thud.

 

Sam tries not to think about this when he's at school, does his best to keep from thinking about the hot, insistent press of Dean's tongue into his mouth, the way Dean molds himself against Sam's body like he's kissing him with every inch of skin he can get next to him. Sam would have a neverending boner and he'd probably get kicked out in two days flat.

 

“God, Sammy,” Dean licks along his jaw, pawing up under Sam's sweatshirt and rocking his hips forward. Sam's breath comes out in a rush as he feels Dean's cock graze against the plastic guard in his jockstrap and he angles himself forward. “You smell so fucking good.”

 

He's not sure if he whimpers or if Dean just knows that he's ready to burst into tears and/or flames. Dean doesn't fuss with Sam's zipper at all, just slides it down easily and tosses the thing aside.

 

Dean's jacket came off at some point, Sam's not too sure when, and he kicks out of his boots before he reaches into the waistband of Sam's shorts and tugs them away from the door. Sam clumsily toes out of his cleats, kicking them aside and dragging his toe up to nudge his socks down before Dean stops him.

 

“Keep 'em on.”

 

Sam stops for a moment, looking up at Dean through the fringe of his hair. Sam tries not to think about this, too, how Dean looks at him like this, like he's some kind of sex-god and not some weird 16-year-old kid with too-long legs and a shady Dad. Dean's mouth is parted just enough that Sam can hear his breath whistling past his lips, and he steps back as Dean's eyes go wide and hungry.

 

Sam's not much in the tease department, and most of the time he doesn't even understand the shit that makes Dean go crazy. He knows it's weird to like someone all sweaty and gross after soccer practice, forgetting that it's Dean so liking anything about Sam's body is already weird. But Dean definitely has a thing for socks and he definitely has a thing for Sam's ass, he's pretty clear on both those fronts, so Sam staggers back enough to turn around.

 

He bends at the waist, arching his back until he can feel the navy fabric of his uniform stretching across his ass. He grabs the slouched tops of his socks and slides them back up as slowly as he can manage, and if he's shaking a little bit it's only because he's putting extra pressure on his cup and fuck he's so hard. He feels a little dizzy as he slowly draws back up but God Dean's face is worth it.

 

“Christ.” Dean blinks, and only Dean could make that look so fucking hot, his eyelashes pretty like a girl's but his cock pressing thick against the fly of his jeans and Sam's mouth waters.

 

Dean comes at him suddenly, like every nerve in his body finally caught up to the sight of Sam bending over in front of him and Sam almost falls over as Dean pulls him towards the bathroom. Pulls him by the waistband of his jockstrap and Sam's brain stutters a little as his dick hogs all his blood supply and how do feet work?

 

It doesn't matter, Dean's got that look like he'd carry Sam over his shoulder if he had to, which he can do and does sometimes, but Sam manages to trip-grind himself along Dean's body until they smack into the cheap frame of the bathroom door.

 

This little apartment is the normal shit-show that Sam's used to, but he had to give the bathroom credit. Big mirrors and an inordinate amount of counter space considering how small it is and Dean had just grinned like the big dick wolf when he'd seen it.

 

Dean spins him in, his hands firm and sure as he guides Sam to the counter and Sam never feels as safe as he does when Dean's holding him like this. Sam could pass out from dick-related blood loss or jizz-related dehydration or whatever Dean makes him feel like and Dean will always hold him up.

 

Dean hustles Sam's shirt off, tossing it close to the makeshift milkcrate hamper. The edge of the counter bites into the curve of Sam's ass and he writhes against it, too far gone to care that he's pretty much begging for it already and Dean's still got all his clothes on.

 

“Take your shorts off, Sammy.” Dean looks him up and down, licking his lips and palming his dick and sliding his hand over it while Sam's heart hammer-skips in his chest. He knows monsters and witches and demons are real, but the full force of Dean's attention is the strongest magic Sam's ever encountered. He manages not to melt into a puddle as he gracelessly yanks his shorts down, letting them pool around his ankles as Dean groans.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Sammy.” Dean does that sudden spring again, staring awestruck at Sam one moment and crowding into his space the next. He sinks to his knees, licking anything he finds on the way down before nosing against the side of Sam's cup.

 

Sam's so hard he's pushing it away with the sheer force of his hard-on, the head of his cock pressing awkwardly against the hard plastic until Dean slides his hand inside. Sam hisses at the contact, his hips jumping forward as Dean huffs out that self-satisfied chuckle.

 

“Let's get you out of this.” He gazes up at Sam, not even needing to look as he slides the plastic cup out of its little pouch and places it on the counter. Sam gets whatever the opposite of brain-freeze is as his cock strains against the stretchy cotton, tenting his jock in the front. Dean curses to himself as they both watch a wet spot form and spread where Sam's dick is leaking freely.

 

“Need it bad, don't you?” Dean looks up at him again, keeping his eyes locked on Sam's as he slides his lips along the thick line of Sam's dick, closing his mouth over the head and sucking through the fabric. Dean groans even louder than he does, and Sam feels the familiar flush of embarrassment and arousal and no-bad-wrong that always comes when Dean does this. Dean traces his way down to Sam's balls and noses into them, smelling him there and fuck, he's 16 and he's been playing sports all afternoon and he may have had to jerk off once during school and Dean's undoing his own fly like it's the sexiest thing ever and not his gross, awkward brother.

 

“Dean,” Sam husks, his chest feeling tight and his toes starting to curl as Dean sucks him through his jock and pulls his own cock out and then he's up again, right in Sam's face and fuck he _smells_ like Sam, and how fucked is Sam that he can feel his cock twitch just at that thought.

 

He doesn't need to focus on it for too long, though, because Dean shoves his jeans down the bare minimum to free his dick and Sam doesn't even realize he's trying to go to his knees before Dean stops him.

 

One hand on Sam's shoulder and one fisted loosely around his cock, Dean strokes himself and shakes his head.

 

“I want you to suck me off, too, baby but I don't think we have time.”

 

There's a lot to handle in that sentence and Sam shakes a little as Dean presses into him for a kiss. First of all, “baby” isn't something Sam ever thought he'd like being called, but the way Dean says it goes right to his nuts and if he's being really honest, sort of makes his asshole twitch which is some kind of Pavlovian conditioning or something.

 

It shouldn't make Sam so hot that they have to watch the clock for Dad to come home but fuck it makes his blood run hot, that they could get caught, that Dean would risk so much just to spin Sam around and press his hot, bare dick against the cleft of Sam's ass.

 

“Besides, gotta clean you up first.”

 

Sam's facing the mirror and if he bothered to look at himself instead of Dean in the reflection he'd be ashamed of the face he makes, mouth hanging open as he moans like a porn star. He arches back without any urging from Dean, spreading his legs and leaning forward because if he's going porn star, he's going all the way. Besides, Dean likes it.

 

“That's it, baby, show me your ass.” Dean lands a palm on either side of Sam's ass, pulling him apart and twining his fingers into the split straps running up to Sam's waistband. He digs his fingers into Sam's hips and lets the head of his dick nudge against Sam's balls. Sam rocks into it, his socked feet slipping a little against the old linoleum but Dean won't let him fall.

 

Dean curls over him, so slow Sam can feel every inch of skin seeping warmth into him. Dean's still got his shirt on and it sticks to Sam's back as Dean leans in to trace his tongue along the shell of Sam's ear.

 

“Gonna lick you clean before I fuck you, Sammy.”

 

Sam's almost too tall for this to work, and his face presses against the mirror as Dean grinds his dick against him. Sam's breath puffs against the mirror as he moans, condensing slick against his face as his cheek slides along it.

 

“Like you all dirty for me, baby,” Dean husks, reaching back between them to trace his index finger over Sam's hole. “Gonna get you fucking filthy by the time I'm done.”

 

When Sam jerks off by himself, he always imagines himself talking right back to Dean. Dean's fucked him over this counter a baker's dozen time in the two weeks they've been here and Sam can always picture it, how he'll plant his hands against the counter, legs spread as he turns to look at Dean. “That's right, Dean, come on, lick me open for that huge cock,” he'd say, and Dean's breath would catch and his dick would leak onto the slippery floor. “Fuck me with your mouth Dean, come on, get your fucking face in there and taste me before you come inside me.” Maybe Dean wouldn't even be able to speak, he'd just stick his tongue up Sam's ass and moan pleadingly, desperate, leaking wet and stripping his dick as Sam fucks himself onto Dean's mouth.

 

What really happens, every single fucking time and no matter what Sam whispers to himself in the privacy of a bathroom stall or some rare time alone, is that he manages a filthy-sounding gurgle where his face is smushed against the mirror and Dean makes a deep, satisfied sound against his neck.

 

Sam makes another pathetic sound as he hears Dean sucking at his cheek, that wet suction sound welling up from his mouth while he peels himself off of Sam's back and spreads Sam's cheeks open. Dean's lips pout together as he works his tongue and fucking winks in the mirror, because he knows Sam is watching him and he knows that Sam is a sick fuck because this makes him fucking crazy. Although he'd learned it from Dean so they're pretty much even.

 

Dean sucks his cheeks in once more and Sam might not have any witty comebacks or filthy porn talk to throw back at him, but he can still clench his ass and make Dean pay for that wink.

 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, wet and thick as a fat line of spit spills from his mouth and strings down to Sam's hole. Sam watches it fall and all he can think as it hits his skin is he's so fucking _wet_ already and he hasn't even gotten fucked, his cock pulsing against the soaked fabric of his jock as Dean does it again. Spit slides down the seam of his balls and soaks into the hammock of fabric holding them snug and warm.

 

“That's my dirty boy.” Dean chases a shiny line of spit and smears it around Sam's hole, the rough skin of his thumb catching against the damp furls as Sam reflexively flutters around it. Dean groans, sinking to his knees to spread Sam apart and breathing hot against the wetness chilling his skin.

 

“So fucking pretty.”

 

Baby and pretty and Sam isn't anyone's boy but fuck it makes him shiver, sweaty and hot-cold as Dean licks a flat swipe across his hole. Dean doesn't tease the way he usually likes to, just licks him deep and darts his tongue to sink it inside. He's hurrying, craning his neck with the effort to spear his tongue inside Sam and Sam groans again, catching sight of himself in the mirror and indulging in the brief, insane fantasy of their Dad walking in and seeing who Dean really loves best, who loves him so much he'll french kiss the dirtiest parts of Sam and hum with pleasure while he does it.

 

Dean can do this for hours and it's not like Sam doesn't want him to, but each time Dean licks into him it presses Sam's dick against the counter and Sam knows how he wants to come, how he needs Dean closer than this. Dean's tongue fucks into him deep and thick but it's not enough, even when Dean's chin presses flush with his nuts and digs the elastic into his taint.

 

Sam manages to slur Dean's name as he tilts his weight onto his chest, angling his neck at an awkward angle as he reaches around to spread himself open. His knuckles brush against Dean's face and he feels it more than hears it when Dean finally makes something like the pleading noise Sam had been hoping for.

 

“M'ready,” Sam mumbles against the mirror, tugging himself open for emphasis and just to hear the gut-punched sound Dean makes. He can just see Dean's face in the bottom of the mirror and he looks half-stoned, his eyes heavy and his chin shining. He calls Sam pretty but Dean's fucking gorgeous, staggering to his feet and fumbling around on the counter.

 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean mutters, reaching blindly for his battered bag of toiletries and unzipping it with one hand. He digs inside until he finds the wavy tube of L.A. Looks Extra Hold Hair Gel that Dean fills with lube after his surreptitious runs to the drugstore. Dean's so careful to hide things like this and it makes Sam pulse wet again with the stolen thrill of the clock ticking by.

 

“I got you, baby.” Dean smiles, eyes flaring as he drizzles the lube over his fingers before squirting some directly onto Sam's hole. It's cold and Sam wrinkles his nose, but Dean just shakes his head and circles his fingers to smear it around.

 

“Take it for me, Sammy.” Dean sinks two fingers into him but Sam's ready, arching back to meet him and moaning as Dean goes two-knuckle-deep. Sam can feel the catch of his rim against Dean's fingers and it's good, full but not enough even when Dean starts to fuck them back and forth.

 

Sam's “More” is really more of a demanding groan than a real word but Dean gets it, biting his lip and sinking his fingers in as he reaches for the lube. Sam's sort of an expert at this stuff and sort of not, but based on some really embarrassing clinic literature and a well-stocked library two cities ago, Sam knows he's just one of those people who doesn't need as much prep for taking it in the ass as long as he has a lot of lube. Maybe he has a high pain threshold, maybe he's just built that way or maybe he really is just made for Dean's cock, who knows.

 

Sam just knows that he's starting to feel sort of crazy as Dean slicks his cock up, that weird frustrated ache that Dean can tease out of him and if they had more time, Dean could make him beg. They aren't Sam's proudest moments but he'll say pretty much anything Dean wants to hear when he's like this.

 

“Open up so good for me, Sammy.” Dean pulls his fingers back and Sam groans at the emptiness left behind, scrabbling his hands back against the counter to give his shoulders some relief. His cock is so hard it almost hurts, throbbing against his jockstrap as he plants his feet.

 

“That's my boy.” Dean presses the blunt head of his dick in, leaning forward slowly and not stopping until his hips are flush with Sam's ass. Sam pants for breath and rolls his eyes back at the stretch, hot and full and just too much for him to remember anything else and it's perfect.

 

Dean draws back before Sam has time to fully adjust, pulling a dirty grunt from Sam with each inch before he sinks back in. It's hard to breathe and Sam's short puffs of breath fog the mirror into a steamy mess, wet and slick just like every other inch of Sam.

 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean growls, burying himself deep and throwing his head back. “Take my cock so fucking good, baby, you know that?” He circles his hips as Sam pushes back onto him, dizzy hot with the too full stretch of Dean's cock and his praise. Dean pulls out to the tip, holding Sam forward with a hand splayed over his ass.

 

“Tight little ass just swallows me up.” He thrusts all the way back in and Sam shudders at the drag of Dean's cock over his prostate, which, again, Sam's not really an expert but it seems like he's pretty sensitive there. He ruts back against Dean, angling himself to make sure Dean does it again.

 

“Want you to come, Sammy.” Dean snaps his hips and starts to fuck Sam faster, sweat beading onto his forehead and running down to disappear below his shirt collar. Sam draws himself up on shaky arms, bracing himself to take it as Dean works up to a steady rhythm. Each thrust grazes over his sweet spot and Sam can feel the flash-burn build of it as he lets himself go.

 

“You're gonna come on my cock, Sammy, come while I fuck you good.” Dean's voice is hoarse and Sam knows he's holding himself back, fucking Sam as hard as he dares. His jaw is set hard and he pants with each slap of their bodies together. Sam's so close and his arms shake as he rocks his ass back to meet Dean, hitching his hips up just right, right there.

 

“That's it, Sammy, fuck yourself good.” Dean's face is flushed red, his eyes wide as he heaves in a deep breath. “Come all over yourself and make a fucking mess for me.” Dean hooks his thumb under the strap of Sam's jockstrap and tugs, pulling it rough against his skin. “Want to see this soaking wet for me, Sammy, that's it.”

 

He lets the elastic snap back against Sam's skin and reaches forward to fist his hand into Sam's hair.

 

“Come for me, baby boy.”

 

 _Fuck_. Sometimes Sam hates that he's so predictable, that hearing Dean say _that_ always trips him over the edge. He smacks his hand against the mirror and seizes up, clamping down around Dean's cock and he's not sure who's making more noise any more. He's dimly aware of his cock twitching and spurting through the thin material, landing a small pool on the counter and spreading into the cotton.

 

Dean fucks him through it hard and steady, bending over Sam's body and pressing him against the counter until Sam can feel his dick sliding through a pool of his own spunk. It'll make Sam really hot to think about it later, but right now all he can feel is the fever-fast hurtle Dean's making towards blowing his load.

 

“Good boy, so fucking good for me, Sammy.” Dean's hips start to lose their rhythm and Dean starts to lose control over his barely-existent verbal filter. “So fucking perfect, Sammy, perfect for me, take it so good, come in your little jockstrap just for me.”

 

Dean's going so fast Sam can hear it, wet and _thwick_ as he ruts into Sam and cards clumsily through his hair.

 

“When you're at school tomorrow, _fuck_ ,” Dean pants, catching Sam's eye in the mirror and fuck he looks _wrecked_. “I'm gonna put it in my mouth while I jerk off in your bed, baby, suck it out and come all over your sheets.”

 

“ _Dean_.” Sam heaves in a breath and Christ, he can't get hard again that fast, can he?

 

“All for you, Sammy, all fucking, yeah, for, _fuck,_ ” and then Dean's balls-deep inside him and slamming his hand against the counter. His neck strains red as he tries not to scream, and even better than the vague warmth spreading through Sam or the press of Dean against him is the way Dean says his name over and over again as he comes inside him.

 

“Fuck, Sammy.” Dean screws his hips forward, pressing in tight and Sam will have a fresh set of bruises spanning his hips. “Shouldn't even go to school, just stay home and let me fuck you all day, keep you all sloppy wet and see how many times you can come for me.”

 

Dean always hates pulling out, and he groans as he goes soft and finally slips free with a hot trail of come running after him. What doesn't soak into the seam of his jockstrap trickles down his thigh.

 

“You like that, Sammy, just keep you all used up and dirty for me all day?” He grins and straightens himself up. “And if you get too full I can just clean you up.”

 

Sam makes a strangled noise as Dean sinks down behind him, pressing his thumbs on either side of Sam's hole and pressing. Dean's come leaks out of him in a rush, hot and wet as it trails down and yes, fuck, this is the best, Dean's tongue curling out to chase after it and _fuck_.

 

Sam and Dean have both been electrocuted at different points in their lives, so Sam can safely say that they both jump higher than that when they hear the heavy slam of the front door.

 

“Fuck.” Dean moves like a ninja, shoving Sam behind the door and throwing the shower on in one quick movement. He tucks himself back in and manages to straighten himself up with a second to spare before there's a knock on the door.

 

“Boys?”

 

Dean opens the door and pokes his head out, a broad smile on his face.

 

“Sam twisted his ankle playing soccer, sir.” Dean clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “Just want to make sure he gets out of the shower safely.”

 

There's a moment of silence and Sam's insides twist into knots, partly from the fear of being caught but mostly because he's straining hard again with the shameful thrill of his father standing on the other side of the door. Sam's cock throbs against the come-wet fabric of his jockstrap as a fresh trail of Dean's come leaks out of his ass and Sam is out of his fucking mind.

 

“You be careful, Sam,” John yells. Dean nods as he closes the door, saying something about making dinner when Sam's done.

 

Sam slumps against the wall and looks at Dean, who has a smile spreading over his face.

 

“Better hurry up in there, Sammy.” Dean says it loud enough for their father to hear before he closes the gap between them, hooking his fingers into Sam's jockstrap and tugging it off. Sam steps out of it and sways on his feet while Dean takes his socks off and urges him into the shower.

 

The water's warm against his back, the patter of it against the tub just loud enough to cover Dean's voice as he leans in.

 

“You better not jerk off in there, Sammy.” Dean smirks at Sam's hard-on and smiles wickedly, reaching in to lower the hot water and blast Sam with a cold spray. He brings Sam's jockstrap up to his mouth and traces his tongue along the crotch seam before smacking his lips together. “Gotta save me some for bedtime.”

 

Sam groans miserably and closes his eyes as Dean laughs, the sound echoing softly off the tiles as Sam grabs the soap.

 


End file.
